


The A Experiment

by KangarooPaws



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Kids - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Mentions of abuse and all that crap, Originally on FanFiction.net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KangarooPaws/pseuds/KangarooPaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shield brings in six children, who all (except one) happened to be the forgotten children of the avengers, what will the team do? Will they be able to step up to the plate and raise children who were taught not to be children? I'm bad at descriptions but please read! (Kids of the Avengers, Steve x Natasha, Tony x Pepper, Thor x Jane,rated T for swearing and mentions of abuse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite of a fic I originally posted a while back, just little different this time. Thanks for reading!

It was three in the morning when he received the phone call.

A simple mission, in and out in less than an hour. Even though it was basic, Fury had requested that he and Clint do it because they needed a chance to test their new gear.

Steve groaned inwardly as he took another glance at the clock. "Right now?"

"Yes Rogers, right now. It takes eight hours to get to the drop zone and we need you in when the guards change shifts," Agent Hill answered. "At least you didn't have to wake up just to make this phone call."

"Understood, Agent." He sighed. "Ill be there in five."

"Good," she said just before the line went dead. Slowly Steve stood up, stretching as he did so. He really was getting old. Too old to wake up at three in the morning for something as simple as a field test. It was days like these, he thought as he got ready. Days like these that almost- almost made him considering retiring. He could see it now. Waking up at a reasonable hour, making breakfast, reading the newspaper. Maybe he'd get married, spend his weekends watching the kids-

 _Don't_ , he scolded himself lightly. _Don't_ _think_ _about_ _it_. And with that he finally stood up, forced himself to change clothes, and headed to the door.

He couldn't help but squint against the harsh fluorescent light that followed once the doors to one of the many Avengers Tower elevators opened on his floor.

With his backpack over his shoulder and shield in hand he walked on and pulled out the file he was sent, trying to bring his attention to the mission.

"Rogers." He looked up to see Natasha standing in the corner. Out of all the elevators she could've chosen to be on at 3:02 am. Typical.

He nodded. "Romanoff."

"Mission?" She asked, barely glancing at him.

"Yeah. Gathering intel from a rogue Hydra base outside of some city called Kozhva." He paused. "You know it?"

"I used to." She almost looked at him, but decided against it.

They stood in silence for a moment. Had it been anyone else and Steve would've asked what the hell they were doing wandering the tower so early. But it was Natasha, and he already knew the answer. It would be six years this month, and he still lost sleep over it too. It wasn't the first time they'd ran into each other on a night like this; both with red rimmed eyes and shared demons. It got worse around this time every year. Not that they'd ever talk about it though, which is why she couldn't meet his eyes and he didn't bother to carry on the conversation any longer.

He looked continued reading the file while Natasha curled in on herself in the corner, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. He pretended he didn't notice, for her sake and his.

After what seemed like an eternity the doors opened and he stepped out. He glanced back, the words nearly slipping out of his mouth. Instead he turned away and walked toward his bike, trying steady his hands that he hadn't even noticed had been shaking until now.

 

> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

 

Six minutes later he was walking onto the jet.

"Cap," Clint greeted. "You're late."

 Steve shrugged, he wasn't in the mood to think of a comeback. "It looks like I am." He took his seat across from the archer and focused his attention on a scuff on his shield.

Clint studied the soldier for a moment. "You feeling alright?"

Steve glanced up quickly, flashed a small smile. "Never better."

"Steve."

He sighed, setting the shield down. "Really Barton, I'm fine. Now, I don't know about you, but I'd like to actually get some sleep tonight, we've got an eight hour flight ahead of us." Clint stared at him for a second longer before giving up.

"Suit yourself."

With that Steve closed his eyes and pulled his hood down, desperate for a few more moments of calm.

 

 

In what felt like only a few seconds later he was being shaken awake by Agent Barton.

"Rise and shine Cap, we've got some Nazis to punch."

Steve chuckled and looked up at his friend who was already in his gear and adding the arrows shield had wanted him to test to his quiver.

"You sleep at all Barton?"

Clint shook his head. "Didn't need it."

Steve cast a concerned glance toward him before continuing to get ready himself. Clint hasn't been staying at the tower as much lately and had been volunteering for more missions than usual. After a night of drinking a couple months back, Clint had told Steve and Tony that he was bored. That was it, he was bored with his life and there was nothing he could do about it. Except constantly put himself in danger through reckless decisions of course. Still, he could do what he wanted and it wasn't really Steve's problem, but that didn't mean he wasn't concerned.

 

A few minutes later the hatch opened and they both jumped out, landing on top of a huge Hydra base. Their mission was simple. Get to the main room and plug a USB into the computer. It would automatically transmit data back to the shield base, and they could leave without even being noticed.

Of course, things never went that easily. They were detected moments after landing, and next thing they knew a group of three soldiers were running towards them, weapons at the ready. Clint pulled out his first arrow, a new one that was supposed to split in two in the air. He carefully aimed between two of the men and shot. The arrow did was it was supposed to do, and the men fell to the ground. By the time he had reloaded his weapon, Steve had taken out the remaining man.

The two avengers couldn't help but share a smile at the ease of the take down, this mission really was going to be an easy one. From the information they had gotten, it appeared to be a rarely used and research based facility, meaning the defense was weak and limited.

They made it through two floors like that, Clint only firing three arrows total and Steve not even needing to touch his shield. Now they were on the basement level, with the control room at the end of the hallway. Just as they reached the door, a crash reverberated down the hall. The shared a glance and an unspoken agreement that Steve would check it out while Clint dealt with the USB. They nodded at each other and Clint opened the door to the control room, silently slipping in.

Steve heard some noise on the other side of the door before silence, and he knew that he wouldn't be needed as backup. He turned and walked back down the hallway in the direction of the noise. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed since they had walked through only minutes earlier. He continued walking, glancing behind him periodically. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, until he heard it, the telltale wiz of a bullet flying past his ear, barely grazing the side. Instantly he turned, shield up and ready for a fight. The Hydra agent stood no more than five feet away from him ( _how had he not heard them coming?_ ) with a gun directly at the Captain's chest. Steve would've, should've, acted quickly. One move and he could take the agent out, no doubt about that. It would be especially easy to do, considering the boy in front of him was no more than twelve years old and five feet tall.

"Wha-" Steve started, only to be cut off by the feeling of a blade grazing his neck, drawing a only slight trickle of blood as it pressed threateningly against his throat.

"не двигайтесь," A voice whispered in his ear.

Steve froze. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the owner of the knife, another boy no older than the first. His next move would have to be careful. Get the knife and take gun, but somehow without harming the kids. They were kids, weren't they? He couldn't just hit them.

He struggled slightly, testing the waters. The knife only pressed farther into his neck, drawing more blood. _Shit_. This couldn't go on, he needed to act now. Just as Steve was about to turn, to disarm the young boy behind him, he saw her.

A girl no older than six, with icy blue eyes and fiery red haired that made Steve's blood run cold.

 

* * *

 

 

_A high pitched wail pierced the air. Steve let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding for the past seven hours. He glanced to his left where Natasha lay with her eyes closed, desperately trying to hold back tears and hide how tired she was after spending the evening in labour. Automatically he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She leaned in, allowing herself to accept it, just this once._

_Before anyone could say anything a team of shield doctors rushed in, needle in hand. He couldn't help but wince as the wails from the infant increased when the needle was inserted into her arm._

_Thankfully, it was over quickly and the doctors were happy with their sample. They nodded towards the pair of Avengers then quickly left the room._

_The door closed and he was forced to draw his attention away from them and back to the screaming bundle that the doctor was holding. His daughter._

_"Weight is slightly below normal, but nothing to be worried about since she was a little early." The doctor stated methodically. "Breathing appears to be fine, eyesight and hearing look good." He glanced up at the pair Steve, who's eyes were locked on the baby. "The blood work should be back in a moment, then we'll know for sure."_

_Steve nodded, Natasha didn't even blink._

_The doctor awkwardly looked back at them, well aware of their situation. "...Would you like to hold her?"_

_"No," Natasha answered instantly._

_Steve hesitated, almost letting himself give in. But he knew that the second he got her in his arms he wouldn't be able to let go. He shook his head._

_Thankfully he didn't have time to reconsider, as at the moment the other doctors rushed back in, this time to speak to Director Fury, who had walked in unnoticed a moment earlier. The Director nodded at the doctors, who began speaking to him in whispers. Steve was dying to know what they were saying, but he knew the rules. This was for the best._

_"Take her now then. Destroy the samples. We were never here, understand?" Fury said, barely loud enough for Steve to hear._

_The doctors nodded quickly, and one rushed over to take the baby, their daughter, away. As she was handed from one doctor to the next, Steve couldn't resist and dared to look up towards the baby. A small tuft of red hair, tiny hands, Natasha's nose._

_He couldn't breathe._

_He heard the assassin next to him take a sharp breath in, and he knew she had dared to look too._

_Just as the doctor was walking out the door, her eyes opened and she stared directly at him, her bright blue irises forever seared into his memory._

 

_\--_

 

 It was in that hallway at that moment that, for the first time in six years, Steve Rogers looked forward and saw eyes matching his own staring back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve barely had time to react to the girl. As soon as she appeared, Clint burst out of the door at the other end of the hall. Steve felt the breeze off a bullet pass by his ear as the boy behind him pulled him around so that he was facing the archer. Clint instantly moved, his fast reflexes kicking in. Not fast enough though. Steve winced as he saw his teammate step backwards when the bullet made contact with his shoulder.

"The fuck?" Clint exclaimed, putting his hand up in a half hearted attempt to stop the bleeding. Years of doing this type of work had made him accustomed to bullet wounds, and while a shoulder injury was no laughing matter, he could tell it wasn't deep and wouldn't really damage anything. Instead, he was more worried about the scene in front of him. Staring directly at him was a small girl, a teenage boy who happened to have Captain America in chokehold, and the shadowy figure who had fired the gun perched on a ledge in the background.

"Stay back!" The teenager exclaimed, this time in English. He then turned to the girl. "Ana."

She instantly moved back into the shadows, breaking eye contact with Steve. He let his gaze follow her still, curiosity only growing stronger. As confused as he was, he knew now was his chance. He had felt the knife loosen slightly as the boy had focused his attention on the girl. A quick glance at Clint told him they were on the same page as the archer nodded. Instantly Steve turned, accepting the deep cut in his arm that he had figured the boy would be able to make before he had caught him. Wincing slightly as he felt the knife slide down his shoulder, he managed to grab the boy's opposite arm and twist his wrist. The boy let out a yelp as his wrist snapped, clearly having never been up against someone as strong as Steve before. 

As soon as Steve had moved Clint had also moved, firing an arrow at the figure on the ledge, aiming at the glint of the gun. Of course he didn't miss and knocked the gun away before another shot was fired. The figure on the ledge, a boy, leapt off quickly in pursuit of the weapon. The archer used this moment to test another one of his new arrows. He fired quickly, shooting a net towards the boy, reaching him only moments before he would've had his hands on the gun. Clint glanced at Steve and started toward his catch after seeing Steve putting the teenager in handcuffs. 

As he came closer he got a better look at the boy. Tall, thin, unruly blond hair falling in front of his eyes as he struggled with the titanium net that covered him. He couldn't be any older than twelve, Clint guessed as he pried the boy up, pulling his own set of handcuffs off his belt and securing them around the boys wrists. 

"Calm down will ya," Clint muttered as he dodged the boy's kicks and hits.

"You'll regret this," the boy hissed, staring up at Clint.

"Yeah I'm sure I will, with you being such a threat."

The boy glared up at him. "You would've been dead."

Clint shrugged, securing the handcuffs and dragging the boy towards where Steve had the other boy held as well. "It was a good shot, I'll give ya that." He moved his shoulder, wincing slightly. "Would've been better if you had anticipated my movement. Hell, I'd probably be dead. Beginners mistake I guess."

The boy grumbled, swinging his legs back and taking one last shot at the archer before giving up, defeated. Clint meet Steve in the middle of the hall, both dragging one deranged preteen along with them.

"You good?" Clint asked, gesturing at the nasty cut along that ran down the soldier's arm.

"Just a scratch," Steve said. "You?"

"I'll get over it."

Steve nodded and tapped his earpiece. "This is Agent Rogers reporting. We've encountered and disarmed two opposing agents, requesting extraction and prisoners transport."

He listened to what was being said back before responding. "Relatively unharmed... Ok." He looked at Clint. "They'll be here in three minutes."

Clint nodded, still a little shocked at the strange situation they had encountered. Suddenly, he heard sniffling in the corner and remembered the girl he had seen earlier.

She stepped out of the shadows cautiously, staring directly at Steve. "Please don't hurt my brothers. We're prisoners here, we need help. Please sir, let them go." 

The solider felt his heart drop yet again, he had no doubt in his mind that this was his daughters. A million questions were running through his mind, but now he could only think of one thing. Get her to stop crying. He couldn't help it, his grip on the boy began to loosen.

Clint almost did the same, trying not to notice the girls uncanny resemblance to his favorite spy. But, he was more skeptical than Steve. As soon as her words were spoken he saw a glint of sliver in her hand. A pin. A grenade. 

"Steve it's a trick," Clint cautioned, stopping the solider from loosening his grip on the boy any more. Suddenly the solider snapped out of it, also becoming aware of the deadly weapon in the girl's hand. One wrong move and they would all be dead. 

The girl closed her eyes, and everything went in slow motion as she slowly moved her hand, releasing the pin. Almost.

"Ana!" The darker haired boy yelled, struggling once again against Steve's grip. "Stop."

She paused, glaring up at the older boy. 

"Please," he begged. "Don't do this, you don't need to. They're not a threat okay? Ana, trust me. Drop it."

Steve let out his breath as she set the grenade down, starring quizzically at the older boy.

Clint moved forward instantly, a second pair of handcuffs at the ready. The girl jumped back.

"Let him," the oldest boy said again, gently this time.

Steve glanced down at him, confused. What kind of game were they trying to play? 

The girl, Ana, obidently complied to his request and let Clint put the cuffs on, through they didn't even stay on her wrists. He sighed and pulled out a zip tie, this being the first time the handcuffs had been to large for the person they had captured. After she was secured he stood again, now with one arm on the blond boy and one on the girl. "Let's get out of here Rogers, we can ask questions later."

The caption nodded.

"Wait," the blond boy said. He looked towards the older boy. "The others."

The older boy nodded and turned to Steve. "If you must take us, at least take all of us."

"All of you?" Clint asked.

 

\------

 

 

The children led them to a lab. Luckily it had already been abandoned by security once they had realized who they were up against. Steve easily kicked the door in and they entered. 

In the center of the room sat two hospital beds. Two pale, brown haired children, a boy and girl, laid on each. Both strapped in and wearing hospital gowns, they laid so still the Steve could have sworn they were dead.

"Take them," the dark haired boy instructed. 

At this point Steve decided it was best to take a no questions asked approach until the were in the clear. He handed the boy off to Clint and approached the beds. Gently he unstrapped both children and picked them up, grateful they were both small, no more than ten years old. Neither stirred as he maneuvered one to each arm.

They again headed to the exit, knowing the three minutes had passed. It made Steve sick to his stomach to think of all that had happened, but he knew he couldn't dwell on that now. 

A couple minutes later they boarded the ship, drawing questions glances from all on board as they strapped the now compliant children into the holding seats. 

Steve and Clint shared a look before strapping themselves in, hoping their questions would be answered once they landed.

 

\-------

 

As soon as the plane touched down, security rushed on. Three men took each child, guns pointed. The two that were still passed out were laid on gurneys, strapped down. 

"Hey!" Steve protested. "Where are you taking them?"

One of the agents turned to him. "You don't have the clearance."

"Bullshit," Clint said, coming to stand by Steve.

The man only shrugged before turning back to the blond boy, nudging him in the back with the gun to move him forward.

"Watch it," Clint said. The boy glanced back at him, then turned and headed down the ramp with the others.

Moments later the agents were swarmed by the medical team and dragged to the hospital wing, despite their protests. 

Just over an hour later they were called to Fury's office. They walked in and were met by Bruce, Natasha, Fury, and Agent Hill. Steve looked around, confused as to what was happening.

"What is this?" He asked.

"Rogers, Barton," Fury greeted. "Nice to see you too."

"The mission-" Clint started.

"That's what we're talking about," Fury cut him. 

Steve looked at Natasha and Bruce. "Why-"

"Let me finish," Fury said again. "The children you apprehended in Russia were part of a Hydra program that collects genetically enhanced children and trains them to do their bidding." He glanced at Natasha. "Similar to the Black Widow program." He continued. "The children you recovered were taken for blood tests and interview to determine their identity, as the program does not just take any orphan. The results of the tests show that, well, there's no easy way to say this."

Steve braced himself.

"They share DNA with you. It's unclear if any were lab created or conceived naturally, which is what we're hoping you will help us figure out, because if Hydra has the capability to replicate your abilities, we've got a much bigger problem on our hands."

"What?" Bruce asked. "What do you mean 'share DNA'?"

"He means they're our children," Clint said, still processing the information. He knew the blond boy had to be his, and he bet he could make a pretty good guess of who his mother was too. Steve glanced at Natasha, who was staring out the window, arms crossed, expressionless.

"How?" Bruce asked again, clearly shocked. "Can we see them? What are you-what's going to happen?"

At this point Agent Hill stepped forward, a file in her hands. She pulled four pieces of paper out and laid them on the table. Each was a report on the children. The first had a mugshot style picture of the girl. Steve looked at Natasha again. She hadn't moved in to look like the rest had, but instead elected to look from afar. He quickly turned his attention back to the picture in front of him, no doubt in his mind what he was going to do next.

Hill pointed to her. "This is Ana. She's the youngest at six years old. Romanoff, Rogers, this is your daughter."

"How?" Natasha asked, finally stepping closer.

"How?" Fury asked. "You of all people should know how Agent."

Natasha glared back at him. "How did she end up there? We were told that a family was ready to adopt her, no questions asked. That was the deal, she was supposed to be safe."

Agent Hill pulled out another photo. This time it was of a crime scene, two bodies in the middle of a nursery, bullet holes in each of their chests. "They were killed. We had no knowledge of it because, per your request, Shield was not to monitor her in order to let her life be as private as possible. It's not clear how they discovered her."

Natasha didn't say anything.

"Anyway," Hill continued, drawing their attention to the next paper. On it was picture of the blond boy, glaring at the camera. "Archer, ironically. Agent Barton, this is your son. Eleven years old."

Clint only nodded.

Hill glanced up at him before deciding to continue. The next was a picture of a girl and a boy, twins obviously. Both with dark brown hair and green eyes that stood out against their pale, sunken in features. Steve recognized them as the two that were in the lab. It looked like they were awake now at least, he thought. 

"Alex and Aria. Twins, nine years old. Banner, these are yours. They were trained like the rest, but spent a majority of their time going through rigorous lab testing. As far as we can tell though, they don't have a 'hulk' mutation, so to speak." 

Bruce let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Ok." That was all he could manage to say as he tried to keep his pulse even.

She pointed to the last picture. It was the boy who had stabbed Steve. He stared directly at the camera, a sort of cocky smirk gracing his lips, like he knew something they didn't. He had unruly brown curls to match his brown eyes. Something about him made Steve uneasy, but he couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was.

"This," Agent Hill continued. "Is Atticus. He's thirteen years old, the leader of the group. He's been under the care of Hydra since birth, he knows everything there is to know about the organization, but of course he won't tell us anything. His blood test showed he had no relation to any of our team, though his IQ is off the charts. He's considered a threat to Shield and the Avengers, he'll be placed in a high security juvenile prison."

"Prison?" Clint asked. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"He won't be there long," Fury said. "Just long enough to get some information out of him. Then we plan to take a leaf out of your book and recruit him as an agent." 

"He's just a kid," Clint defended.

"His IQ rivals Stark's. We can't afford to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"What about the others?" Bruce asked. "What about our children?"

"A evaluation has yet to be done on their threat level. Initial contact leads us to believe that they aren't being tracked, and have no contact with Hydra forces. While highly trained, they're all still too small to do any real damage, so they'll most likely get sent to a juvenile facility. The youngest girl will have to be placed in a high security zone because we believe she is what they will be most actively searching for-"

"I'll take her."

The second the words left his mouth he felt a hand grab his arm and yank him out of the room. He barely had time to react before he felt his back hit the wall as Natasha not so gently pushed him into it, her face inches from his own. 

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed, eyes frantically searching his face.

"Nat-"

"No. This isn't happening. We made our decision." She glared up at him, seething.

He met her gaze evenly. "Plans change."

"Not this one."

"What makes you think this is your choice?"

"That child does not need to be part of your redemption plan."

"That child?" He growled. "That child is our daughter Natasha, whether you like it or not, if you would just stop acting so fucking ashamed for one second-"

"Ashamed? That's what you think I am?" She hissed, pushing him farther into the wall.

He leaned forward, their noses almost touching. "Yes."

"And how are you not ashamed of yourself, Rogers? Have you seen the world we live in? It's messy, dangerous, heartless. How could you possibly be proud of bringing a child into this?"

"I'm not proud of the world Natasha, but that's not the issue here. What's done is done. She needs us, you can't possibly want to send her to prison-"

"I can't. Don't you understand that? I can't." She leaned in slightly more, her eyes never leaving his. "This can't be part of my life."

"Natasha." He said again, raising his hand to stop her from cutting him off again. "It doesn't have to be."

She said nothing, just stared back at him, quizzical.

"It doesn't have to be, okay? I-I'll take her and we'll leave the tower... I'll buy a house or something and we'll stay there. You'll never have to see her if you don't want to, I'm not asking you to do anything." He sighed, it pained him to think about, but if he had to cut ties with Natasha to keep his daughter then so be it, he wasn't losing her again. As angry as he felt knowing Natasha wanted nothing to do with their daughter, he had to accept it. "You don't have to do anything, okay? I can't let her go again."

She pulled back slightly, ashamed. "I can't do that either."

Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You're going to have to do something, I don't care what you decide. Just say the word and we'll be out of your hair for good."

She instantly shook her head. "No."

"No?" 

"I don't want that," she stared up at him again, then instantly turned away. She took deep breaths for a moment before beginning to pace back and forth, running her hands through her hair. "No, no, no. I can't do this. I can't. I can't Steve, I can-"

"Natasha," he reached out, gently pulling her hands away from her face.

She looked up at him, defeated. For this first time in a long time he saw fear gracing the spy's features. "I've killed children, Steve. I'm not capable of raising one."

"What's past is done, it doesn't matter now."

This time it was her turn to roll her eyes. "You know that's not true."

"Natasha please, she needs you. I need you, I can't do this alone." 

She looked away. "What if I'm not good enough?"

He pulled her closer, and for the first time in five years she didn't object. "I don't think anyone really is, they just try their best. That's all that matters. We're partners, we'll figure it out together."

"Used to be." She muttered, tucking her head into his chest. He felt her arms snake around his waist, returning his embrace. Lightly, so lightly in fact that he barely felt it, but still it was there. "We used to be partners."

"Yeah," he wrapped his arms around her tighter. "Used to be."

They stayed like that for a moment before Natasha pulled away. She took a deep breath and then reentered the room with Steve close behind. Fury, Hill, and the others all stared as they walked back in, knowing the tension that had existed between them ever since Ana was born.

Natasha glanced around the room, challenging anyone to speak. "We'll take her."

At this Fury raised an eyebrow. "Your parental rights were terminated."

"We'd like to reinstate them," Steve said.

Fury laughed. "If you think I'm going to lose a third of my team to-"

"Actually," Agent Hill interrupted. "This may be for the best. She'll be monitored daily, we can observe at close range to get accurate measures of her abilities, and there's less of a chance she could end up in the wrong hands again." She shrugged. "It's not a bad idea."

Fury glared at her. "That's not the only issue with this. This a person we're talking about, a living, breathing human being." He turned to Steve and Natasha. "You two have caused this agency enough problems on your own. What makes you think you'll be able to manage that and raise a child?"

They both were silent until Steve spoke up.

"Director, I-"

Fury waved his hand. "You know what? It's not my problem. Show up and do you job, I don't give a fuck about what else you do."

Again it was quiet. 

"I'd like to take mine too," Bruce said. "When they're cleared of course."

"Me too," Clint added.

Fury shook his head in disbelief. "Let's go then."

 

 

 

\------

 

 

"I want you to go with them."

"What?"

"They will want you to go, and you will."

"No."

Atticus turned sharply, halting his pacing to stare back at the pair that sat in front of him. "No?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Archer responded cooly. "They are dirty pindos, coward Americans, we shouldn't waste our time."

"You will not earn their affection with that language." 

Archer shook his head. "I would rather put a bullet through my skull than work for their approval."

"And you would rather go back to camp? Train daily, all for nothing?" Atticus asked, staring down at the in from of him.

"It is not for nothing. Our teachers are helping us."

"Helping us do what? You are useless to them, a pawn in their torture plan, nothing more."

At this Archer stood. "How so?"

Atticus turned so that his back was facing Archer. He began to speak.

"Turn around." Archer ordered.

Atticus continued, ignoring the request.

"Stop this. Turn around." Archer said, louder this time. He reached his arm out and grabbed the older boys shoulder, pulling him around so that his face was visible.

"Need me to repeat myself, Archie? Having trouble hearing?" Atticus responded, speaking slowly, allowing Archer to follow every movement his lips made.

Archer shoved him backwards. "Fuck off."

"You're a liability to them, Archer. They want a perfect solider, and you can never be one. What good is a solider who can't hear? You want to go back? Fine. I give you a year before they realize you cost more than you offer and you become the pile of organs in the freezer."

"What makes you think you're any better?" The younger boy hissed.

Atticus shrugged. "I'm not. Which is why I'm not going back."

"They will find you." 

"Eventually, yes."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I will go." Archer said.

Atticus nodded. "Thank you."

They both paused for a moment of silence, understanding. Then the third voice in the room finally made itself known.

"Home."

Atticus turned to the little girl in the corner, barely visible in the shadows. "Ana."

"I. Want. To. Go. Home." She said slowly, accenting every syllable.

"This is home."

"No," she said again. "My home."

"This will be your home," Archer said. No matter how much he hated this, he knew it was a better option for her than the lab ever would be.

"NO," she yelled, startling both boys.

"YES," Atticus yelled back.

"Why?"

"Your parents are going to take you, and they're going to let you have your own room, with your own blankets. They're going to give you American food and you can watch American television. Maybe you'll get a fucking dog. Doesn't matter, this is your home now."

She perked up slightly, a glint in her eyes. "Dog?" 

"Yeah, maybe."

She considered it briefly, then shook her head. "I don't want parents."

"Well, tough shit," Atticus said as he watched the door open and a group of people slowly entered the room. 

Nick Fury stood at the head of the group. "Kids, I'd like to formally introduce you to your parents."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great feedback! To clarify- this story doesn't really match in any of the current timelines, it was originally written before Civil War or Age of Ultron, so we'll just say that it takes place in some alternate universe where everyone lives in the tower and Sheild still exists. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"So, this is, uh, your room," Steve said, opening the door to reveal a rather bland guest bedroom. A bed in the corner, tan walls, nothing else. "We can add decorations of course. We'll go to the store and you can pick out whatever you want." He glanced down at the girl who stood between him and Natasha. She stared straight ahead, Steve wasn't even sure if she had heard what he said until she started moving forward into the small room. Both Avengers stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do as Ana walked slowly forward. She got to the bed, and reached out. Her small hand gently slid across the comforter as she stared down at it. After a moment she pulled her hand away and turned back to them.

"Why?"

"Why?" Steve asked, unsure of what she meant.

"Why is this...soft?"

"I... it's a bed." Steve replied, looking to Natasha for guidance. He found none. The spy was instead staring straight at their daughter, expressionless, her face mirroring that of the little girl a moment earlier.

"Ok." Ana nodded. She turned back to face the bed. "I want to sleep."

"Ok!" Steve said, trying to sound encouraging. It had been over twelve hours since they landed and he was sure it had been a rough day for her, some sleep would be good. "I, uh, don't have any pajamas for you yet. We can get some tomorrow, but until then I'm sure there's gotta be something arou-"

He stopped as Ana turned away from him again, she had probably had enough of his rambling. Quickly she pulled the covers back, carefully folding them near the bottom of the mattress. She laid down on her back, arms at her sides with no blankets at all. It suddenly occurred to Steve that she didn't understand how to use the blanket. Without any hesitation he walked up the bed and picked up the end of the blanket in a move to pull it up. The second he reached the bed she was on her feet, backing towards the wall.

He put his hands up, dropping the blanket. "Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. This is just a blanket, you use it when you sleep."

She stopped backing up, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow in a way that screamed Natasha. 

"Trust me," he continued. "Just lay down, I promise you'll be fine."

She didn't move.

"Promise," he said again, trying to be as gentle as possible, something he didn't have much experience with.

After a moment of debate, Ana decided that it was worth the risk and laid back down. She watched intently as Steve carefully pulled the blanket up, trying her hardest not to flinch as he tucked it around her shoulders. Still, Steve couldn't help but notice how she seemed to jump at every physical contact she had. It pained him to think about the years of abuse she had been through, all because they had tried to protect her. "See? Not so bad."

She nodded, still unmoving. 

He stood next to her for moment, waiting for her to speak. It didn't happen, so he decided that now would be the time to exit before his lack of parenting skills became even more apparent. "Well, goodnight Ana. If you need anything I'll be just down the hall."

"I won't." Was all she said.

He nodded. "Still. Goodnight."

She didn't respond again, and when he glanced back her eyes were closed. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his heart aching to do something, anything, to make it better. 

It was only after he turned off the light did he notice that Natasha was gone. A quick scan around the apartment told him she had left. He sighed, trying to force himself to be angry. But he wasn't, he was just tired. Defeated. He had done this to his daughter. In trying to selfishly make his life easier he had taken away her childhood, and he would never forgive himself for that. He got lost in his thoughts as he changed clothes and brushed his teeth, knowing damn well that there was no way he was sleeping tonight. Instead he went back to Ana's room and slid down to the floor, leaning his back against the doorframe. He closed his eyes, deciding that if this was where he had to sleep for the next 12 years in order to keep her safe he would, no doubt. 

Just as he was about to actually fall asleep, he felt a presence next to him. Drowsily he opened his eyes and watched as Natasha slid in to place at the other side of the doorframe, leaning against it so that she was facing him, their legs overlapping.

She was silent for a moment as she stared into the room.

"In the red room, we slept on cots in the wall," she explained. "No blankets, nothing soft." She paused for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" 

"This is my fault," she muttered. 

"No, it's our fault. It was a mutual decision Natasha."

"Was it?" She whispered. 

"Yes," he answered sternly. "We agreed."

The spy glanced up at him, clearly not believing a word he said. Still, she didn't argue, the day had worn her down just as much as it had him. "I don't know how to do this."

"Me neither," he replied. 

Natasha smirked, looking back at him for a moment before glancing at Ana. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door frame, nudging his foot with hers. "Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight."

 

 

\--------

 

 

It had taken him five hours and forty two minutes to figure out the pattern. 

After watching his only family leave with their respective parents, Atticus was once again handcuffed and stuffed in the back of a musty van. It wasn't that he minded the smell really, he had dealt with much worse. He just expected more from America, it was his home country after all, even if he couldn't remember it. Sometimes he envied Archer for being able to scrounge up vague, foggy memories of a life before Hydra. Not that he would ever tell him that of course. Though he supposed that wasn't something to worry about, given that he would most likely never see Archer again. Maybe, for a moment before…

He glanced down at his right arm, turning it so that the hand faced up, wrist and veins exposed. Slowly he traced a finger from his hand to his elbow, waiting for something to happen. Much to his relief, nothing did. Yet.

Anyway, he supposed he'd see them all again, but not long enough to say anything. Someone, he wasn't sure which side they would be on, would kill him before he got the chance. 

But, he thought as he drew his attention back to the small white cell that he now called home, he wasn't going to let that happen. He had just seen what he had been waiting for. The small red light inside the security camera turn off. As if on cue, two guards walked past. They made three laps around the building with four minutes in between each, before the light turned back on.

He smiled, that was all he needed.

When walking him to his cell they made the mistake of walking past the security room. Once quick glance (worth the slap that followed) had told him that they underestimated him. One monitor was all they had, meaning it had to switch between cameras. If he timed it properly, there should be a window in which no one could see him. 

Four minutes. 

That was enough. He could disarm the door in one, leaving him three to get out. They had stupidly given him a blanket to go on the cot in the corner. When angled correctly, it would look like he was just sleeping. A classic move, so dumb it might just work. Not might work, he knew it would work. After running through 236 possible scenarios, this was the best option. Much better than killing the guards. He never really liked that part. It was too loud, too close.

At 11:35 the camera light turned off and he began his work. One minute and seven seconds later the door was open and he was down the hall.

He glanced both ways, watched the guards in front of him round the corner.

Two minutes.

The camera farther down the hall switched off and he walked down, making it to the entrance where one security guard stood. He pulled a button off his shirt and threw it down the hall.

Three minutes.

The guard turned and followed the sound. Atticus waited for the red light to go off on the camera before walking out the door, using the ID tag he had stolen hours before to open it.

Four minutes. 

He left the ID tag at the door, they'd find it in a few hours. He smirked, at least he could say he wasn't a thief.

He turned around to the street in front of him, shocked to see it surrounded by tall buildings. It appeared that he hadn't even left the city. They had really underestimated him. He look back at the building behind him again, disguised as an office, not a high security prison. 

"What the hell..." he thought out loud. It didn't make sense, why would the leave him in a such a weakly guarded place? He knew they had severely doubted his abilities, but still, anyone could break out of this in a couple weeks. Unless they planning on keeping him there for more than-

Oh.

He laughed out loud. They were going to recruit him, turn him into one of their little weapons now. There was no way in hell that was happening. From the moment he was born he had been thrown around, used. No one bothering to take a moment to treat him like a child (not that he needed to be, but still). He wasn't going to deal with it anymore. If they were gonna take him it would be over his dead body. 

He straightened up, walking down the street with a newfound determination. 

"Now," he muttered. "Where to go..."

All it took was a quick glance at the skyline for him to spot the fluorescent 'A' glowing near the top of the tower.

He smiled, a quick visit wouldn't hurt.

 

 

\-------

 

 

Five minutes later he walked into the building.

"Identify yourself," A voice, Jarvis he assumed, demanded. 

He took a deep breath, praying this would work. It was risky, but if Stark still had the system Atticus had studied, it should work. He carefully nicked his left arm with his knife and let the blood drip onto the scanner near the wall. It scanned, a melodic beeping emitting as it did so. He held his breath.

"Ah, Mr-"

"No," Atticus said. "It's Atticus." 

"Ok, whatever you wish," Jarvis said. The elevator doors opened. Atticus stepped in as glanced at the buttons, having no idea which floors his friends could be on. He picked one near the top and pressed it, hoping he would be lucky.

Unfortunately, he wasn't very lucky. As soon as the door opened onto a very high tech apartment he knew he was in the wrong place. A woman stood in the middle of the room, studying something on the holograph screen in front of her. She turned towards him upon hearing the door open, suspicion gracing her features.

"Oh, uh I-uh, I just..." he stammered, cringing at his own confusion. This is what would get him killed, typical. "I'm looking for my siblings? Not siblings but my...friends?"

"Oh!" The woman, Pepper, exclaimed, realizing that this must be one of the children she had been told about earlier. She hadn't had time to get fully briefed on the situation, but she knew this boy had to be one of them, there was no other way he could've gotten past JARVIS without any warning. He did look vaguely familiar, though she couldn't exactly tell why. "Of course. Do you want me to give you their floor numbers?"

He nodded, still awkwardly standing in the open elevator. 

"Jarvis?" She said. "Can I have the whereabouts of the other children?"

"Ms. Rogers is currently gone shopping with Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff, Mr. Barton is at the shooting range, and the twins are still being monitored at the hospital."

"Oh," Atticus said, realizing that none of them were even here. "Well, I'll just uh- go...somewhere."

"You can wait here," she offered quickly. "We have a lot of kids stuff up here. It's all Tony's but he can share," she joked, winking at him.

"Tony Stark?" He asked hesitantly, stepping out of the elevator and into the extravagant apartment. Sure, he had wanted to explore a little, but he hadn't meant to actually walk into the home of the man he had been trained to kill. 

Pepper nodded. "Yeah. I guess I should introduce myself." She walked up to him and stuck out her hand. "Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries."

Atticus nodded, staring warily at her hand for a moment before she pulled it away. he already knew who she was, but whatever. 

They awkwardly stared at each other for a second, with Atticus trying to look as not guilty as possible while Pepper (in his opinion) tried to stare into his soul. 

"Do you want a snack?" Pepper asked. He was a kid right? They liked snacks. And honestly, he looked like he could use some food. While logically she knew inviting a strange child into her home wasn't a great idea, there was something about this kid that made her feel a little bit bad for him. He had an all too familiar "overworked genius" air around him. 

"Sure, I guess." Atticus mumbled. He was already in too deep, a little food would hurt.

Pepper walked back to the counter, gesturing for him to follow her. He climbed onto a stool at the large kitchen island and watched as she rifled through the cupboards. 

"Let's see, we have fruit snacks, poptarts, chips, brownies..." she looked back to see his response.

He stared at her like she had just spoken a completely different language. "I don't know what that is."

Oh, she thought. Thought she hadn't been briefed on all the details yet, she had known that they weren't raised in good conditions, which would explain the blank expression she had received. She smiled at him. "Well, I guess we'll have to try all of them then."

 

 

\--------

 

 

Atticus wasn't exactly sure how, but a half an hour later he was up to his elbows in cupcake batter. First he had tried fruit snacks, which didn't taste anything like fruit. Then poptarts, which he really liked. Then Pepper had mentioned something about how it was a shame they didn't have any cupcakes. And now here he was, watching as she expertly frosted their first batch of chocolate cupcakes. 

"Hey, if you eat it all we won't have anything left to make," she scolded as Atticus quickly withdrew his hand from the bowl of batter. 

He gave her a lopsided smile and pulled his hand back. "Sorry."

"We have to save some so you can take them home later," she said. She hadn't bothered to ask him who his parents were yet, every time she started to bring it up he stopped responding. 

He shrugged. "I escaped from prison. I don't know if they'll let me bring food in." 

She laughed. "Funny." 

"No, seriously."

"Oh I'm sure," Pepper shook her head. "Here," she handed him a cupcake. "Your first cupcake."

He bit into it, chewed slowly. "This one's my favorite," He mumbled. Pepper could barely make out the words considering he hadn't taken a break from eating as he spoke. 

She grabbed one. "Me too." 

Then the elevator opened.

"Cupcakes, for me?" A voice said. "How sweet of you."

"Tony," Pepper greeted. 

Atticus froze, then he grabbed another cupcake. He watched quietly as Tony walked into the kitchen and gave Pepper a quick kiss, seemingly unaware of the boy that sat across from him. Atticus continued watching him. He looked just like the pictures they had shown him. Maybe a little bit shorter in person, but other than that-

He watched as Tony turned, making eye contact with him. Atticus froze mid-bite and set the cupcake down slowly. Here we go. He thought. 

"Hi," he greeted, trying to sound as innocent as possible and hating himself for it. 

Tony jumped back like he had just been shot at. "Pepper!" He screeched. "Stay back!"

She didn't move. "Tony, what-"

Suddenly part of his suit came flying in, the arm piece assembly itself around his outstretched hand. "He's dangerous, a deadly assassin. We just got briefed on it, he should be in a high security prision right now." Tony stated, staring at Atticus, who had calmly continued to eat his cupcake without breaking eye contact with the older man.

"That is correct," Atticus said, not knowing why he was feeling so disappointed. Deep down, he had kind of hoped no one would notice, as dumb as it may seem. Pepper was cool, and now she'd probably hate him. 

"You weren't joking?" Pepper asked, panic rising in her voice. 

"I said I wasn't."

"What do you want?" Tony asked. "How did you even get in?" 

Atticus shrugged. 

"JARVIS?" Tony called, checking to see if Atticus had disabled the system.

"Yes?" The AI replied. 

"Thank god," Tony mumbled. "Why did you let him in? What did he do?" 

"Well-" 

"That's enough," Atticus said. Jarvis immediately stopped talking.

"What the hell?" Tony asked to no one in particular. 

Atticus grabbed a cupcake and held it out to him. "Want one?" 

Tony glared back at him. Atticus mirrored the look, then withdrew his hand. "Suit yourself," he said as he took a bite.

It was at that point the the elevator opened once again, this time with armed shield agents pouring out, guns raised. 

Atticus turned, ignoring the red lasers that were trained on his forehead. He glanced at the clock. "You're late."


	4. Chapter 4

By this point, Bruce was sure the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor would he permanently ingrained in his mind, as would the faces of the two children who sat in front of him. Almost immediately after volunteering to take them, Bruce had been ushered down to the hospital wing where his two children (he still was having trouble processing it) sat unconscious, trying desperately to recover from the years of abuse they had suffered. At first, he could barely think, unable to process anything with so many thoughts flying through his head. Wavy brown hair. They’re so small. Familiar nose- he couldn’t quite place it though. Are kids supposed to be that small? Two of them. Fragile. Freckles? That wasn’t from him. Too fragile. His eyes shifted to the broken pair of glasses that sat near the girl -his daughter’s- bedside. Breakable. 

He thought he was going to puke. Surprisingly, he hadn’t felt the Hulk at all yet. It was almost like he knew. He had never felt so completely in control, yet so terrified, in years. 

The opening of the door pulled him out of his thoughts as the nurse walked in. He wordlessly came up to the children, writing some notes and checking their vitals again.

Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly and the man finally turned. 

“So, going- what’s wrong, I guess?” He stuttered. “What’s happening to them?”

The nurse looked down at his notes then back up at Bruce. “And you are...?”

“I’m their father,” he said. “I’m their father,” he repeated, mostly for himself.

The man nodded. “Right. Well, they’ve suffered severe malnutrition and dehydration, along with countless procedures that we’re not knowledgeable about, meaning we don’t know the affect it has had on them. When they were recovered they were having an adverse reaction to something, again not sure what, so the doctor found it in their best interest to knock them out basically. Gives them time to heal without the added stress of a new environment and new people.” He looked away, “And to make sure they aren’t dangerous.”

“They’re not dangerous,” Bruce insisted.

“We don’t know that yet,” the man countered. 

“They’re not,” he repeated.

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes-“

“Listen, dude,” the nurse cut him off. “The doctor will be back in an hour, they’ll probably wake up in two. I’ve got other patients to tend to. Is there anything else you need from me?”

Bruce looked down, feeling a little bit bad about how he had reacted. “Right. Um, could I maybe just look at their records? If that’s okay.”

The nurse shrugged and handed him the file in his hands. “Shouldn’t be a problem, you’re the parent. There’s no mom, right?”

“Uh, I-I don’t know?” Bruce murmured as he took the file.

The nurse chuckled. “Oh, I see.”

“No it’s just I-“ Bruce started, then realized it wasn’t worth it. “Yeah.”

“Well, good luck.” 

“Thanks,” Bruce said as the nurse walked out. He glanced at the two kids again. So small. His hands shook slightly as he opened the file.

ALEXANDER AND ARIA, the top read. And scribbled in small letters next to it: Banner

He read it again. Alexander and Aria Banner.

He thought he was going to puke.

 

————————

 

As soon at the doors to the elevator opened, Archer was alert. He glanced around slowly. 37 exits. Not bad. Quickly he looked up. Moveable panels, air ducts. Perfect. 

He wasn’t planning on running, not really. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but he just couldn’t leave the rest of his team like that. If one ran, they all did. That was the deal. And with two members currently in a hospital, running would be difficult for the time being. 

“... so yeah, this is it. Not much but there’s a great range down in the training floor and...” Clint trailed off, turning to the boy and watching as his eyes flitted around the room, observing everything. “I don’t have a guest bed set up but you can sleep in my room if you’d like.”

Archer glanced at the ceiling. 

“...Or we can go to the kitchen? Get some dinner?”

The boy looked down the hall.

“Archer?” Clint reached out, aiming to gently nudge his arm and direct him towards the kitchen. As soon as he touched him Archer pulled his arm back, clearly startled at the action.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” He hissed. Clint was barely able to understand through the boy’s thick Russian accent. He had heard the others talking, and none of them seemed to have any difficultly with the American accent, thought he guessed they were all faking it. It unsettled him a little that Archer hadn’t chosen to take up the accent as well, but that really wasn’t his main concern.

Clint pulled his arm back and held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, won’t do it again.”

Archer stared at him.

“Do you... want food?”

He nodded. That was progress, Clint figured. He walked into the kitchen and Archer followed behind him, still making careful observations of the space around him. 

“Right,” Clint murmured as he opened the fridge. “I’ve got...beer and takeout, mostly.” He laughed and turned to Archer, expecting some type of response. Instead Archer just stared up at him, expressionless. The avenger dropped his smile instantly, realizing that joking around wouldn’t be best. “Sorry. We can go down to the communal floor and grab something.” 

Once again, he was met only by the boy’s stare.

“Or you can go to bed if you want, you’ve had a long day.” 

Nothing.

“Or,” Clint continued. “We could play video games? I bet you could beat me at Mario Kart.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Archer finally said.

Clint sighed. “Why not? You talked to me after you nearly killed me.”

“Nearly isn’t good enough,” The boy muttered under his breath. Again, Clint could barely comprehend what he was saying with his accent, but he got the idea.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Archer said, louder this time. “You are not my father.”

Clint shook his head. “I am. That’s why you’re here.”

“I want my mother.” 

At this Clint paused, stopping the retort he had prepared before it could escape his lips. “What?”

“My mother.” Archer crossed his arms and stuck chin up in a way that Clint could only attribute to one person. “I want to go to her. Now.” 

For once, he had no idea what to say. The identity of Archer’s mother hadn’t been his biggest worry, so he hadn’t thought of it. Or rather he had wanted to think about it, but stopped himself in fear of the answer. Once more he glanced at the tall, lanky boy in front of him. Blue eyes (one being much more grey than the other; he’d have to remind himself to ask about that later), nose that curved upward at the end, pointed ears that stuck out through his nearly platinum blond hair. Clint took a deep breath.

“She’s dead.”

Archer shook his head. “No.”

“Yes,” Clint couldn’t help as his voice cracked slightly.”

“No,” Archer repeated. “How do you know? You don’t even know who she is.”

The archer closed his eyes. It had been nearly six years ago when he had been sent in to Bulgaria for an investigation into a signal Fury had received from there earlier that week. He clearly remembers walking up to the pile of rubble that used to be an apartment building. Natasha calling him over just moments later, watching as local medics pulled a body out from underneath the pile. He remembers seeing a flash of platinum blond hair, and then the rest is a blur. He might’ve passed out, he’s still not entirely sure. 

“Kid, your mom is Bobbi Morse, I know.” 

Archer looked away. 

“She’s dead,” Clint repeated. “I saw it myself okay? There was an explosion. I’m sorry.”

Archer shook his head again, his eyes beginning to water. “No, you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“NO,” Archer shouted. “She said she would come back.”

“Archer-“

“Stop talking,” Archer demanded. He closed his eyes. “I can’t hear you.” 

“Come on, just listen,” Clint knelt down in front of him so that he was at the boy’s eye level. “I’m not lying. Why would I lie about that? I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He looked down as his eyes began to water. “I loved her too. But, we’re all we have now, okay?”

Archer still held his eyes shut, unresponsive.

“Archer, I know you can hear me. Please just-“ Clint paused. Why had he closed his eyes to block out the sound? “Can you hear me?”

Still no response. 

“Archer,” he mumbled. Gently, Clint reached out to tap the boy’s arm. Immediately Archer jumped back, as if he hadn’t heard it coming. Luckily, he opened his eyes as well.

“What do you want?” He hissed. 

“Can you hear me?” Clint repeated slowly. 

Tears welled up in Archer’s eyes as he once again crossed his arms.

“Archer-“

“Stop,” he wiped a stray tear, defiantly putting his arm back down. “You are just like them.”

“I just want to know if you can hear me.”

“Why? So you can send me back?”

“No, no,” Clint instinctively held his hand out again, immediately retracting it when Archer flinched. “I just want to know. I promise.”

“No.”

“Can you hear me at all?”

Archer shook his head. “Only loud noises. I watch how you talk.”

“You read lips?” Clint asked. 

“Yes,” he paused. “It is difficult to understand English. I used to know it well, but once I was taken, after the explosion you speak of, it was never spoken without an accent. I forgot.” 

“Do you know how to sign?”

Archer just stared back.

“Talk with you hands?”

He nodded slightly. “My mother taught me. I don’t remember much.” 

“Show me what you know,” Clint asked gently.

Archer slowly reached it in front of him.

Archer. Mom. Tired. Hungry. Happy. Charlie.

“Charlie?” Clint asked. 

“I had a dog named Charlie,” Archer explained. “You know how to read what I said?”

Clint nodded and gestured to his own ear where his hearing aid sat. “I have the same thing.”

Archer’s eyes widened for a split second, but he instantly covered it back up. “What is that, in your ear?” 

“It’s a hearing aid,” Clint explained. “You never had one?” 

Archer shook his head. “When I was with my mother yes I think. But during training no.” 

“Well, we can get you one. Only if you want it.” 

He shrugged. 

“Until then, I’ll make sure I look at you when I’m talking and I can sign too if you’d like.”

“Yes.” 

“Okay,” The avenger said, making sure he signed as well. “Do you still want to get food?”

The boy shook his head again. “They gave you a folder with my things. I want that.”

Clint nodded and turned around to grab the manila folder behind him. Archer gingerly took it out of his hands and opened it, looking for something. After a moment he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled a small crumpled picture out. He handed the folder back to Clint and put the picture in his pocket before Clint had a chance to look. “I want to go to bed now.” 

A half an hour later, Archer had fallen asleep on the makeshift bed on the couch as Clint had yet to get a bed for the guest bedroom and Archer had refused to take his room. Quietly, he walked over to the boy and pulled his blanket up. In his hand he saw the picture from earlier. In the center of the apartment sat Bobbi with a toddler Archer on her lap. Archer had a toothy grin plastered on his face and his arms wrapped around a huge black dog that stood to their left. 

Clint sighed. He didn’t understand why she didn’t tell him and why she felt the need to fall of the face of the Earth. He didn’t know her reasons, but none of that mattered now. Now it was his job to raise their son. He might not be good at it, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can tell I’ve decided to go with a more comic based approach when dealing with Archer. If you watch Agents of Shield this might be a little annoying, apologies. 
> 
> Also when discussing hearing loss, I’m not too experienced so if I ever say or do anything wrong, I assure you it was not intentional and please let me know how to fix it! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Lemme know what you think!


End file.
